It’s almost here…so you should be here…

The summit is just weeks away…come meet and see everyone you’ve always wanted to meet and see. Go here to let us know you are coming! We will all meet at Gallery Lounge located at 510 Brannan Street (at 4th) in the South of Market district of San Francisco on Friday, June 22, at 7pm.

Or, just show up.  We’ll be seeing three of you!

One weekend in May

Last night, Donnan and I watched “Big Eden,” a cute gay-themed film from 2000.  While I have seen it a number of times, Donnan had not.  It is a look at a world that could be, with men pursuing same-sex relationships in the midst of a seemingly non-homophobic town in Montana.  It is a romantic comedy that borders on silly and cheesy when one views gay relationships in a “future” context. 

The film evoked memories for me I hadn’t felt in a long time.  You see, the first time I viewed this film was in May 2002 in the midst of an early out-of-the-closet weekend fling with a studly stranger.  I had just moved to Santa Fe at the time and ripe out of the closet, and was planting my oats and looking for that relationship I so thought I needed.  I have forgotten those feelings of falling in love with every one night stand and believing that “this is the guy” when he fumbled around the bedroom the next morning, looking for his underwear and sock, and saying that he would call you.

I had seen “John” several times at The Paramount in Santa Fe, one of my first “gay” haunts.  I found him very good looking and sexy, but on my first approach he informed me that he was partnered.  It was several months later when he moved in next to me at another nightclub.

“Hi there,” he says to me with his cute blue eyes and cute blonde hair.

“Hey..what’s up?” I asked.

After some gentle flirting and subtle body language exchanges, I learned that he was now single but moving to San Diego on Monday (it was Friday night).  We wasted no time heading back to my place and indulging in some crazy antics.  I had never felt so comfortable with anyone before.  We took a bubble bath the next morning.  It was when we were laying on the couch later that day that I popped “Big Eden” into the DVD player.  How romantic!  A hopeful gay romantic comedy with a guy I really liked.  He said all the sweet nothings that I had always longed to hear.  We cuddled.  We drank wine.  We hung out another night.  On Sunday, he announced that he had to stay with his sister that night and would try to see me before he left.  When he walked out the door, I felt devestated.  I felt like I had lost someone irreplaceable.

I waited for the phone to ring but it never did.  Waited, waited, and waited.  At some point in an earlier conversation, he mentioned that he had to visit his storage unit before driving to San Diego on Monday.  I had pinpointed the location of this so-called unit and decided to stalk him on Monday.  Since my unit was in the same place, I had an excuse in case I ran into him.  I never expected to see him the first thing upon arriving — he was in Unit #1 right at the entrance!

I was caught stalking.

As he loaded and ugly macrame-potted fern into his front seat, he noticed my trying to turn around. 

With a wave he yelled “Dan!”

I parked and explained that I needed to get my skis out of storage (remember that this takes place in May).  “What a coincidence!” I exclaimed.  After a bit of small talk, I said good-bye and pretended to go to my unit to pick up skis.  When I returned from the other part of the storage place, he was still there.  I felt even more devestated than the day before.

As any good stalker would do, I hid in the nearby Allsup’s parking lot (those of you from New Mexico will know what I am talking about) and watched as he pulled onto I-25 South.  I have not spoken to him nor seen him since.

That was the moment I became cynical about gay relationships — a fact I had forgotten until seeing “Big Eden” last night.  Fortunately, I am at a place where I have no need to be cynical ever again.  John, I hope you are well and that your macrame-potted fern is thriving!  Mine is doing fine…

Monday tidbits

Donnan’s best friend Karina visited us for Memorial Day Weekend. She lives in NYC and we heart her! Yesterday, we headed to a party in the Mission to watch the Carnivale Parade. Karina looks adorable between Andrew and Donnan in the above shot.

The hetero guys at the party pulled out a PLAYBOY, much to the chagrin of this poor onlooker. Karina was shocked….

Soon thereafter, we headed out to Mission Street to see the aftermath of the celebration. This poor balloon man still had many items remaining…

And we ended up with the drag queens at Mecca for the restaurant’s 11th anniversary. They serve great bellinis there!

All in all, a great Memorial Day three-day weekend!

Louie, who stayed home during our Sunday festivities, was fatigued from it all. I know exactly how he feels.

Today’s gratuitous video: Cute funny kid on The Price is Right

With Bob Barker’s impending retirement (his last show airs on June 15), I will occasionally post gratuitous videos from “The Price is Right” over the next couple of weeks.  This kid is named Josh Silberman. Interestingly enough, when you google him, you discover that he was also the person who tested all the horrible stunts on the now defunct “Fear Factor.” You can find his site here.

A creature of habit a.k.a. my morning commute meets a sleeping lady

I am a creature of habit.  One indication of this fact is my morning commute.  When I don’t walk (20 minutes), I take MUNI (when the N-Judah came to the CalTrain Station, it took about 10 minutes; with the new T-Third line, it can take up to 30 minutes).  When I get off the train at Embarcadero Station, I approach the newspaper stand at the top of the escalator, managed by the elderly couple who sell the San Francisco Chronicle for 25 cents — a real bargain, since it is 46 cents everywhere else.  Those of you who live in San Francisco may even know to whom I am referring.  Purchasing the paper at that location allows me to glance over the front page while I walk through the station (except on Mondays when I also stop at the flower stand to pick out a bouquet for my office that week — I know, so gay!), go up to Market Street on the escalator, and proceed southeast on Beale to the Starbuck’s on Mission.  After I purchase my venti triple non-fat latte, I head into the office.

Over the past week or so, the bottleneck in this routine has come with the purchase of my paper.  The elderly couple who run the stand must arrive at 3 a.m. or so to start work, since by 8:30 a.m., they doze off and sometimes completely asleep (while sitting straight up).  Over the past year, I have learned to clear my throat, cough, or kick the bottom of the stand to wake them from their slumber.  I’ve said “Hey!” in a high shrill.  Sometimes, I even stand and watch as the sleeping lady’s chin hits her chest and she wakes herself.  The one thing that I do refuse to do is steal the paper and run like I’ve seen some commuters do.  After all, they are selling me the paper for a 21 cent discount and I can’t imagine that they make much money in their paper-selling jobs in the dreary Embarcadero BART/MUNI station.

I arrived this morning and Mr. and Mrs. Chronicle were in a DEEP slumber.  I coughed.  I yelled.  I kicked.  I shimmied.  I picked up a paper and said “WOW!  STATE SENATOR CAROLE MIGDEN HAS LEUKEMIA” (today’s headline in Ess Eff).  “AMAZING, THE COLLAPSED MACARTHUR MAZE REOPENS TOMORROW ONLY AFTER 26 DAYS!” (it’s true).  “WONDERFUL – JORDIN SPARKS WON ‘AMERICAN IDOL’!” (Sorry, Blake)

The couple did not respond.  Mrs. Chronicle’s chin even predictably hit her chest without that usual twitch indicating consciousness.  Where was Mr. Chronicle?  He is always there — and that’s when I remembered that he sometimes would nudge his partner awake so that she could collect my quarter. 

I looked around concerned that something had happened to Mr. Chronicle.

The newspaper stand is a square waist-high box counter with the sleeping lady sitting on one side.  The man usually is in the middle of the box reading the paper.  On each side of the inside of the box, a small partition rests between the waist-high counter and floor.  That’s when I noticed Mr. Chronicle’s feet sticking out on one side of the partition.  He was sleeping (or worse) under the counter.

I considered walking away with a paper for just a moment.  If I had a quarter, I would have left it and grabbed the paper.  The sleeping lady and her partner? husband? were not going to wake up anytime soon.  Just then, a fellow commuter walked by and picked up a newspaper from the stack sitting on the counter in front of the lady.  He kept walking.

I put my paper back into the pile and instead bought one for 46 cents at Starbuck’s.  I just couldn’t bring myself to wake them or steal from them.  I just hope they are not in the same postions tomorrow.

Off to Phoenix

I’m heading for Phoenix for some fun in the summer heat.  Watch for the first video edition of “The Jimmi and Dan Variety Cast” which we will produce during the weekend.  See you soon!

What makes shit holy?

I stood waiting for the light to turn at 4th and Brannan, on my way to MUNI after dropping Louie off at doggie daycare.  There were pedestrians waiting on the other side of the street as the light turned green, giving us clearance to proceed.  I thought about the day ahead of me at the office this morning — and sorted through to-do items in my head.

“SMASH!” as a car hits the lightpole at the other corner just in front of me.  I see two men dressed for work dive into the sidewalk and avoiding severe injuries or death by inches.

Even though we were about 3 feet into the crosswalk, I stopped as the guy next to me muttered “Holy shit!”

A wayward driver had sped up to get through the intersection as her light turned red.  After hitting a car turning left in front of us, she careened slightly right into the lightpost.  If the post hadn’t been there to stop her momentum, she would have wiped out three people.  It happened so quickly, we didn’t even hear breaks squealing.  A police cruiser had also witnessed the accident and immediately fired his sirens and screeched to a stop.

As I reached the other side, one of the gentleman who had just avoided death was ashen white.  “Are you alright?” I asked with a concerned tone.  “Besides knocking the wind out of myself and pretty much shitting my pants, I’m fine — I think.”  How appropriate “holy shit” is as an expression, especially in cases like this.  For an instant, I realized I had discovered why surprised people uttered those words before my mind refocused on the scene unwinding in front of me.  For a split second, my mind began questioning why “holy” is part of the curse as another onlooker struck up a conversation.

As I chatted with other witnesses, most of whom were muttering “Holy shit,” I saw the driver trembling in the car.  She didn’t move after the officer requested her to exit the vehicle.  Although she appeared unhurt, she clearly was very freaked out.  It was just then that I looked at an oncoming vehicle.  It was a woman with whom I work — she didn’t see me.  As the police informed her she would have to turn right to avoid the accident instead of proceeding through the intersection and the growing number of lookie-lous, she kept questioning his judgment before begrudgingly making the turn away from the accident.  Another strange element to the situation.

Why people still insist on running red lights is beyond me.  I always chuckle when someone passes by me on a red light only for me to find him or her sitting at the red light at the next intersection as I pull beside them.  It seems not to save any time in the long run.  But idiots still insist upon doing so.

My mind went back to thinking about my to do list as my heart continued to race.  Witnessing this fiasco reinforced the fragility of life.